Devotional vocalist Snatam Kaur has long been a guiding light in the world of spiritually based, pop-tinged music—fusions of Eastern devotion and Western melodic structure. For her 2006 album Anand (meaning “bliss”), Kaur delves into the light of pure love once more, bringing us a series of lovingly sweetened, mantra-based songs. Her voice alight with unrestricted love and limitless compassion, Snatam Kaur sings how we might imagine angels would sound as they guide us to the light after we die. Imagine Sarah McLachlan after she’s just had a divine vision in yoga class, and you have an idea of the mix of beauty, grace, and Western tonal accessibility at play in Anand. It's a welcome addition to Kaur's impressive output and as good a place as any to start appreciating the work of this quietly captivating artist.

The opening track, "Guru Ram Das Raakho Saranaa-Ee" is a beautiful prayer with a slight tinge of sadness. Kaur restricts herself to singing the words of the song’s title in a cycle over a slowly gathering ensemble of tablas, synthesizers, wood flutes, and acoustic guitars. From this place of gentle, sonic perfection there's nowhere else to go—time effectively stands still—so the album stays there, suspended in a divine trance. Ideal for melting into the hands of a skilled masseuse or disappearing into a sunlit meditation, it"s probably not the best music for driving or working. "Paramaysareh (Transcendent Lord)" opens on a riveting, strong wood flute melody before Kaur begins to sing. The feeling here is of movement within the stillness, as opposed to the first track, a sense of horizontal flight toward a purer sense of egoless love.

"Jap Man Sat Nam" finds the singer issuing voices like amorphous cloud vowels over a landscape of gently beaten tablas, dreamy synth drones, and ethereal wood flute solos, evoking ancient Chinese or Sufi gardens frozen in a state of ageless grace. When Kaur's voice comes back to the melody, even though she's been gone only a few seconds, you want to run up and welcome her back with salaams and kisses. "Kabir's Song" finds the artist singing in English: "Oh my soul, you come and you go / Through the paths of time and space," alongside a moody slide guitar–sitar solo. By then words should hardly matter. Whatever one’s language or faith, all ears open to the infinite should recognize that Snatam Kaur is the real thing: an artist whose ego has long since vanished in the shadowless light of pure love and whose art is all the richer for it.